


The Consequence

by Stephquiem



Series: Going Back [11]
Category: Animorphs (TV), Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe, Excessive Swearing, Light Use of Canon-Typical Timey-Wimey Weirdness, M/M, Plot Armor As a Plot Device, complicated family relationships, mutually pining idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephquiem/pseuds/Stephquiem
Summary: A short tale about family, consequences, and the end of the world (sort of.)Takes place duringMegamorphs #4 Back to Before.
Series: Going Back [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/988983
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Pay Off

**_Priton_ **

_Day 0_

Sometimes you do stupid things for the people you love.

Do you want to know what I was thinking when I left Steph? Do you? I was thinking that Crayak would want his retribution, and I was thinking that maybe, because she hadn't known anything, Crayak would blame me alone, and not Steph. I thought maybe there was safety in the anonymity of the Yeerk pool, and if there wasn't--there probably wasn't, but at the time it seemed worth the try--that whatever consequences there were would come only for me.

It was a stupid idea. I know. Or I knew that _now_ , anyway. Several months of nothing at all was what I'd gotten so far for my trouble. Sometimes it felt like the relative seclusion--with nothing but pool gossip and occasional run-ins with Aftran to keep me in the loop--was going to drive me insane. Maybe insanity was meant to be my punishment. Not like it wasn't working.

Really, if you want to know the truth, I thought I was going to die. After the Iskoort incident and the destruction of the Howlers, Crayak had tried and failed to destroy the Chee. He'd tried and _technically_ failed to kill Jake--for good, anyway. Maybe I should have known better than to assume I knew everything when my sample size for Crayak Revenge Tactics was so very, very limited. Then again, it's not like I _wanted_ to die.

Not yet, anyway.

* * *

_Day 1_

Something wasn't right.

I was at the high school. I recognized this hallway, but nothing looked quite right. Just in front of me was one of those campaign posters for student government, but every time I tried to focus my eyes on it long enough to read what it said, my eyes would slide away, like it wasn't actually there. Everything was kind of like that. It all felt like I was viewing it from very far away. A dream. It had to be a dream.

The thing is, Yeerks don't dream.

We _sleep,_ but it's not the kind of deep sleep humans think of . There's a stage of half-sleep where we're still semi-conscious. It's easier for a Yeerk to wake up than, say, a human, which I suppose theoretically gives a Controller an advantage over the uninfested, but trying to move a body that is in the deeper parts of REM sleep is a bit like trying to drive a semi-truck through a vat of molasses. And the body I was attached to--old, familiar brain patterns like a comforting blanket, like a _welcome home--_ was always the hardest to rouse. 

Long experience has taught me, however, that a voice screaming in your head will rouse even the deepest sleeper.

<Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!>

<Priton?> The voice was drowsy, but undeniably familiar. Awake enough.

I sprang into a sitting position, almost banging my head on the headboard, and was immediately struck by a wave of dizziness. One hand gripped the side of the mattress I'd been laying on. My throat constricted painfully, my breath whistled in through clogged nostrils. The faded memory of a bad case of the flu resurfaced in my mind. That explained why I was in bed at... I looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Eight-thirty at night.

"Ben?"

I turned to see Janet, Ben's wife, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, her hair still done up and sweaty like she'd just come home from the gym. I stared blankly at her.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," I lied. I stood and stumbled out of the room, down the hall past Amy's room, until I reached the hall bathroom. I flipped on the light and shut the door behind me, then turned to stare into the familiar face in the mirror. _Fuck._ Fucking Drode. Fucking Crayak. For good measure, fucking Ellimist, too. Why. What purpose did it serve for me to be here? Because I knew exactly when and where I was, thanks to those meddling assholes. What, was my foreknowledge not timeline breaking? I supposed not, but why was I there. The beauty of these things was supposed to be that we hit a hard reset button on everything. Shouldn't life go on as normal for me then? _Shouldn't it?_

A nagging voice in the back of my mind reminded me that the hard reset only came when it all fell apart, and Crayak in his _infinite_ wisdom had not foreseen how badly it would all crash down. How did that even work in this timeline? No Animorphs, no books, no universe hopping teenager. If the timeline was capable of being fixed in the first place, surely that was a sign that _this_ wouldn't work? 

Unless he thought this was some brilliant original idea. The thought that I knew more than either of those two with their godlike powers was laughable, but it had to be semi-true, didn't it? Otherwise Crayak would have had to want to fail on Iskoort, and that was too far beyond the realm of possibility to even be acknowledged. Still. Why was I there, and why was I conscious of how not there I was meant to be? Surely that was a mistake. Right? I didn't remember being in the jungle, only Steph's knowledge of what happened there. I remembered dying in the Cretaceous period with uncomfortable vividness, but _everyone_ remembered that episode. So, what? Was I being punished? 

Because this felt like punishment. Forty-odd days reliving a life with my adopted family, my stolen slice of happiness. All while knowing exactly what was wrong, what else I was missing. How soon it would end. Because there was literally nothing else I could do. Knowing what was meant to happen didn't mean anything if you could do nothing about it. What could I do? Call Jake and tell him to do something incredibly stupid with his friends? Make it all happen anyway? Yeah, no. One, he wouldn't be home, obviously. Two, being vague and cryptic on the phone was probably the smartest idea those idiot kids had had.

<Priton?> Ben sounded more awake now, wondering why I was acting like a freak. Great question, Ben.

I rubbed my hands over my face. Funny how fast my sense of possession set in. I don’t think Ben cared. Or he didn’t anymore.

It occurred to me suddenly that nothing I did mattered here. There was a timer on this universe. The world was ending soon. This was like a very strange dream. None of it mattered.

If you knew the world was going to end, how would you spend your last days on Earth?

<Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.>

* * *

_Day 8_

I should have done this sooner. First thing, probably. I had the phone number memorized, despite having never dialed it before. I should have gone straight to the phone that first night and called then. If I was being honest, though, I was a little afraid. Afraid she wouldn't be there. Afraid that she would be there, but wouldn't remember. Afraid that she _would._

There was something else, too. Something about being home. It was like a healing balm. The initial shock had wore off by now, and I felt myself wanting to relax into it, into that soothing feeling of being back in the first place I'd ever felt like I belonged. I _didn't_ , not really--it was a belonging built entirely on lies--and that feeling was never, ever safe. But here, in this strange, temporary universe where nothing mattered because it would all be over soon anyway--assuming it all fell apart the way I knew it was supposed to--we were as safe as it was truly possible for us to be. It was soothing. It was calming. Or, possibly, I was just really feeling the effects of Ben's Prozac after two-plus years without it. 

When we got home that afternoon, though, there was the telephone bill, waiting for us in the mailbox. It felt like an accusation. A _you know what you have to do, what are you waiting for?_ At least if I did it now, Janet would never see and question the one, inexplicable long-distance phone call on the next bill. 

It was early on a Friday afternoon, after school let out. it was fortuitous timing. I'd had a meeting cancelled. Janet was still at work. Amy had begged to be allowed to spend the night at a friend's--Janet would have said no, she didn't like the kid's parents for reasons I couldn't remember, and Ben would have said no because he trusted his wife's judgment. Amy wasn't asking her mother, though, she was asking the alien wearing her stepfather's face, and that alien was, apparently, a big soft idiot. 

There was a phone in the kitchen, by the back door. I stood staring at it, drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter, Ben's thoughts buzzing like background noise in my head--he was starting to seriously wonder if I was having some kind of mental breakdown.

Really, you'd have thought we'd have done this before. Steph had already spent time searching the internet for some alternate universe version of herself. That person probably didn't exist--who knows, maybe that person _couldn't_ exist, maybe having two Stephs in one universe caused a paradox or something. That's how it worked in science fiction. Maybe that explained why the Ellimist had picked her for this--not the best person for the job, just the best person who didn't have an alternate universe body double here. I don't know, it was a guess. It wasn't like the Ellimist was forthcoming with explanations. 

At any rate, we'd never tried calling, just to see. In those early days, it was always pretty dicey trying to spend too much time in Cassie's house. The Chee would have understood, probably would have helped if they could--Erek certainly would have. Mr. King, too. But we didn't try. I think she was afraid--that was the best word I could think of, anyway, for what I'd perceived mostly as a difficult to define feeling of dread. Afraid of the answer, one way or the other, kind of like what I was feeling right now. There's also a funny kind of existential discomfort in the thought of yourself not existing. Well, you, but also _not_ you, anyway. It's complicated, and not exactly the most logical feeling in the universe.

Who knows, though. Maybe she'd tried this since I left.

I picked up the receiver. I dialed the number. It rang twice, and then--

"Hello?"

A woman's voice, but not one I recognized. Still, I cleared my throat and said, "Uh, hi, not sure I dialed the correct number. Is this--" I gave the name of Steph's mother. 

"No, sorry, there's no one here by that name."

"All right, thank you." I hung up the phone. I debated for a minute, then picked it up again and dialed her dad's number. It did occur to me that there could be any number of factors at play here. They could live somewhere else. Her parents could have decided to stay together in this universe--not only would they live somewhere else, but her mom's last name would be different. There were other, sadder possibilities, too, that I didn't want to think about and told myself didn't matter.

No one picked up this time. The answering machine turned on, and I listened to an unfamiliar voice tell me I'd reached the number of someone with an unfamiliar name. I hung up before the message ended.

I stood for a long time in the kitchen, staring unseeingly out through the sliding glass doors at the backyard. I wasn't surprised. But I kind of wished I was. It seemed stupid to feel alone now, when I was standing in my house, when I could feel Ben's mind next to mine, when all the sights and sounds and smells and _everything_ around me right then said _you're home, you're safe, you're_ home. 

<Do you want to talk about it?> Ben asked, at last, in that gentle way he'd talk to a child about to have a complete meltdown.

<No.> I didn't know what I'd have said anyway. There was nothing that wouldn't sound crazy to anyone else, and the only other person who would understand wasn't here. It was just me.

Maybe I'd had it right the first time--maybe insanity was _was_ my punishment after all. I certainly felt like I was going to lose my mind _now_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priton made a joke all the way back in Interludes about how Jake probably remembered the events of #11 because he was the narrator. I _deeply_ regret that joke now. There's a certain amount of inconsistency in _Animorphs_ when it comes to things like time travel, alternate universes, and the mechanics of who remembers what and why. Pro-tip for series rewrites: Just make up your own rules. It's so much simpler that way. You're already looking at the series and saying "some things could be better" anyway. 
> 
> The only hard and fast rule in Going Back is that the Really Weird Stuff is consistent with canon. Part of that is me wanting to commandeer the Weird Shit for my own purposes. And part of that is that, more than anything, Priton and GB!Steph mostly rely on GB!Steph's book knowledge. And part of that book knowledge, for better or for worse, is "sometimes stuff happens and only one person can remember it." Until it's not.
> 
> I understand that this doesn't really seem like life-ruining consequences, but Part 11 is really the appetizer before the main course. Do I really wish that the thing I've been setting up for the last 11 parts would go a little smoother than this? _Holy shit yes._ But I'm going to do my best with what I've given myself, regardless. 
> 
> On the topic of this chapter specifically: Fun fact, this was the first thing I wrote for this iteration of Going Back. It was 2017, I was in the middle of writing People Like Us, and I really missed writing Going Back's version of Priton. Brain Trust's Priton is a lot rougher around the edges, for one thing, for another, it was incredibly weird writing his and Ben's relationship from its hostile beginnings. So I wrote this. It doesn't make much sense to write Megamorphs #4 for GB!Steph--it would be pretty boring, and frankly uncomfortably personal--but it makes perfect sense as a reintroduction point for Priton. And it gives me an excuse to write Ben. I love excuses to write Ben. And in a universe where he can afford to treat his mental illness, no less (see: Priton's comment about Prozac.) I probably did more research on this than was necessary, since Ben's experience with mental illness is entirely based on my own, but more research probably doesn't hurt.
> 
> One final note to this obscenely long Note: The title doesn't come from a specific published work like most of the other Parts--which are mainly named after poems, honestly. I have a lot of poetry anthologies on hand for when I'm struggling with titles, okay--but it's instead actually an Animorphs reference. According to [Anibase](https://animorphs.fandom.com/wiki/Anibase), "The Consequence" was a proposed title for #51, but it didn't end up getting used because it wouldn't fit on the cover.


	2. Missing Piece

_Day 15_

There was a familiar rhythm to life with Ben and his family, one that it was surprisingly easy to fall back into, as if no time had passed at all. I guess it hadn't, really--not for anyone else except me, anyway. But the days had a pattern to them that was easy to fall back into. Human work had a nice, structured schedule, which did very little to actually mask the chaos that it usually entailed--if I'd ever thought that teenagers would make more sense after spending a couple years in one's head, I was definitely mistaken. If anything, they probably made _less_ sense now. _Real_ work, the stuff I did for the Empire, had its own routine, too. I'd gotten a new potential "member" to mentor at the Sharing. I was grateful, at least, that I wouldn't be around for however that played out. You'd think that, since I was going through it all a second time, that I'd remember the guy and what became of him, and maybe I should have, but I really didn't. For the most part, the people I "mentored"--that is, tricked into becoming Controllers--all kind of ran together in my head. You can take that as you will.

There was also family time, of course. If there was anything I mostly let Ben handle, it was that. It made him happiest, and the parts I enjoyed, I could enjoy just as easily as an observer. It felt less like a lie that way. I piggybacked on Ben's time with Janet and Amy, listened in on his phone conversations with his sister about who was going to visit who for Thanksgiving this year. Ben was sure it was Anna's turn to host, Anna insisted that it was his turn, and my suggestion that we forget about it and order a pizza instead was ignored, as it was every year. Ben and I both tried to help Amy with her homework. To varying degrees of success.

<How are we both this shit at math?>

<Your species has faster-than-light travel, how are _you_ this bad at fractions?>

<It's not like I'm the one building the ships. Or flying them. You don't need to know how to add fractions to be a foot soldier!> Probably. It's not like I'd ever been a very good soldier anyway. <Why don't we just get her one of those fancy graphing calculators and call it a day. It can do the hard work for her.>

<I'm not buying a hundred dollar calculator for a nine year old,> Ben said. <She's not going to be able to carry a calculator around with her everywhere, anyway.>

<Are you sure? Janet's got that tiny calculator in her purse. Amy's backpack has _way_ more room than that.>

There were hiccups. There are always hiccups. A couple weeks in, we had a family movie night. It was Ben's turn to pick the movie, and we went to Blockbuster, where we inevitably gravitated toward the sci-fi section out of habit. Janet had asked, with amused resignation, if we were getting _The Empire Strikes Back_ again, even though we'd seen it approximately twelve hundred times. I had stared down at the movie for a little too long, feeling a queasiness that had very little to do with the actual movie, before saying, "Nah. What about that Cate Blanchett, Elizabeth I movie people are talking about?" Because historical dramas were usually a good compromise, and because no one important to me had seen it before.

Sometimes, I wondered what had actually been done to me, what the logistics were. On the one hand, I felt very much like the same Yeerk who'd spent the last couple years--give or take--fighting the Empire. The memories were there, as was the full awareness of where and when I ought to be. But there were _bits missing._ Like my consciousness had been moved back in time, but some things had been left behind. For those first few days, I had the uneasy feeling like something was missing, until I finally realized that I wasn't missing some _thing,_ but some _one._

Hosts leave imprints of themselves on their Yeerks. That's a very basic fact of the Yeerk-Host relationship. It's not intentional, it just happens, gradually over time. You don't really notice it when you're in their head--it's hard enough as it is after a while to separate Yeerk from host, like they become two halves of the same whole--kind of. Ideally. But when your host is gone--when they die or are freed or get transferred to another Yeerk--that's when you notice there are parts of you that weren't there before, that didn't belong to you originally. Like a souvenir. Or like leftovers someone else forgot in your fridge.

I was, by now, intimately familiar with how this was supposed to feel. I'd carried Ben around with me for years, and then I'd added Steph to the mix when I left her. Reminders of what I'd left behind. Reminders of what I wanted to protect. In Ben's head now, it felt like it should--that strange but natural mixing and melding of minds--but if I reached out to find that other part, that Steph-part, that I knew should have been there... there was nothing. My own memories of her, and memories of things I'd specifically seen in her mind, sure, but those aren't really the same thing. It was less like amnesia, and more like waking up one day to find you were missing a kidney. Or like you'd never had the kidney to begin with.

I didn't know what to think about that. I thought--hoped--it was one of those odd quirks of the situation. It would come back, when it was over. I was in a timeline where we'd never met, where she probably didn't even exist, and this made perfect sense, no matter what my too-aware brain was telling me. Probably. I hoped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter might be the most 90s thing I've written thus far. I remember the "you won't be able to have a calculator with you at all times!" arguments from my math teachers. And then within a year or two half of us had cell phones. A while back, I was reading a fanfic in another fandom and the author mentioned that they thought it was unrealistic for a high school senior to not have cell phone while I was thinking "This is supposed to be, what? 2005? If my friend group was anything to go on, the odds are pretty fifty-fifty." 
> 
> There are a couple personal Easter Eggs in this chapter, but for context: _Empire Strikes Back_ is my favorite Star Wars film. Though, considering my particular history niche interest, _Elizabeth_ probably wasn't the best idea, either. Also _Elizabeth_ came out in 1998, but as is usually the case, you really shouldn't put much stock in that fact.
> 
> It's established in canon that Yeerks carry bits of their old hosts with them when they change hosts, and that they leave bits of themselves behind when they die in a host's head. I'm not entirely sure how that's meant to work, to be honest, though in Going Back, at least, it's more of a vague imprint that the Yeerk doesn't really have control over--you get what you get, and how much or how little is determined mostly by how long the Yeerk and host were together. Really, the important thing that's established here is that that imprint is directly affected by resets and timeline shenanigans. More on that... well, as Priton finds out the logistics. 
> 
> This was going to be a very different chapter. In fact, this started out as the intro to what will now be chapter 3, but then Priton wouldn't shut up for close to a thousand words. "Priton Doesn't Shut Up for 70,000 Words and Counting" could be an alternate title for Going Back.


	3. Inescapable

_Day 21_

As with all my best-laid plans, trying to just focus on being home fell flat on its face soon enough.

There were reminders everywhere, when I was paying attention. I saw Tom a few times, and was grateful I didn't have to interact with Temrash on any level. They weren't in any of my classes, and I'd long made it a point to avoid his sort anyway. Ambitious ladder-climbing kiss-asses and host sympathizing traitors didn't mix very well. Tom wasn't the only person at the Sharing I was trying to avoid. He was just the least uncomfortable option, since I didn't really know him on any kind of personal level.

It's funny sometimes how lives intersect, often in ways you don't even realize at first. If you'd asked me before what I thought about Bill, Tobias' Sharing mentor in this strange timeline, he seemed like kind of an asshole, but the kind of asshole who was a dime a dozen in Recruitment. It was an easy job to prove yourself in, if you were relatively low-ranking and wanted to move up. It was also an easy place to hide if you didn't want to get noticed. Being just good enough at your job to fly under the radar was an art form I'd perfected over the years. Actual try-hards tended to be insufferable when you got to know them.

What I _wasn't_ expecting, was that, when Tobias started showing up at Sharing meetings and he got assigned to "Bill," it would turn out _I actually knew him._ Had him in class. Made idle conversation with him by the vending machines at the rec center when meetings were held there, in the same way humans chat with co-workers around the water cooler at work. 

I don't know if it'd make things better or worse if humans knew that, by and large, most of their invaders were just regular average Joes. On the one hand, it makes the bad stuff worse--apathy and complacency and all that--and on the other hand, it's hard to face someone in battle when you know they're a _person_ like you, complicated flaws and all.

When you got right down to it, it was unsettlingly easy to ignore Tobias' presence at the Sharing. It was easy enough to justify. I knew what happened to him in this version of events. I knew he got infested and that his Yeerk would get him killed. I didn't particularly want to see that happen, but it wasn't my problem. These things happened, and it was terrible, but it wouldn't matter soon enough anyway. It'd all get reset and Tobias wouldn't remember any of it, and as I had once told Steph a very long time ago, no one's really responsible for their actions before a reset. You do what you've gotta do and be grateful for the lack of long-term consequences.

And you know, I thought I'd be able to let it go. I really did.

It was a very average meeting. Talk to my mentee. Sell the Sharing's Kool-Aid. Pretend to listen when they sat us all down for a talk about about the Sharing's--entirely bogus--mission. Try not to openly stare at the backs of two heads in particular. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it made sense that Tom--Temrash, whatever--would bring Jake along to a Sharing meeting. If Steph had been there, I could have asked her to know for sure, but it _felt_ right. It made sense, and it was the sort of thing that Temrash would do--and I guess had done, in a different way, in a different timeline. Either way, knowing Jake, and what I thought I remembered, nothing was going to come of _that_ , anyway. 

It wasn't that it was unexpected. It was that it was a reminder of things I was trying to ignore.

I tried to make a quick getaway when the meeting ended. It didn't quite go that way--though it was a bit early in the season for it, it had been calling for rain all day, and it was finally starting now, as everyone seemed in a hurry to make the mad dash home before it really got going. It was just a drizzle, but you wouldn't have known it from the slow creeping line of cars. It was a little ridiculous.

By the time I left the parking lot, it was raining harder--at least enough to justify a _little_ caution. Still, at the first opportunity, I took a detour down a side street, finding it blissfully empty street.

Well. Mostly empty.

You know that feeling when you could swear, absolutely _swear_ that some higher power must be trying to fuck with you in particular? Yeah, that feeling doesn't get much better when you know for sure that that's exactly what's happening.

I knew what I should do. I should just keep on driving. Pretend I didn't see him. I should keep on pretending for the next however many days. What was going to happen to Tobias was terrible, but it wasn't my problem, was it? I'd already spent an awful lot of time and energy trying to keep seven idiot kids safe from _real_ threats. My job was done. I quit, I retired, whatever. I was not responsible for bad luck in soon-to-be-aborted-anyway timelines.

None of this mattered. He wasn't going to remember later anyway. It wasn't worth sticking my neck out.

It didn't _matter_.

"Oh for _fuck's_ sake." I pulled the car over before I could talk myself out of being a complete moron. Tobias looked up as I rolled down the passenger side window. "Hey, you're Tobias, aren't you? From the Sharing?" Something flickered across his features that I thought was recognition before he nodded. "You want a lift?"

* * *

<Do you know how creepy this is?> Ben asked. <What are you doing?>

I didn't answer. What could I have said? I was pretty sure "don't get into cars with strangers who claim they know you" is the first thing they teach kids. I had literally had conversations with Amy about this kind of thing. 

Oh well. We were here now.

Tobias got in, looking nervous and unsure. I introduced myself--or Ben, anyway--and tried not cringe at how strange it was to be addressed as "Mr. Harrison" by someone who'd been calling me by my real name for ages now. He gave me directions to his house. At least I didn't have to fake not knowing where that was.

"So," I said. "You liking the Sharing?"

"Sure," Tobias said. "I mean, everyone's pretty nice there. Welcoming. It's nice feeling like I belong somewhere."

I nodded, like I understood. It was the kind of thing that lured in a lot of people, honestly. Some people were there for the promise of whatever the Sharing said they could give them--and, to be fair, they did usually keep those promises, or at least the ones that benefited the Empire's cause--but a lot of others just wanted to feel a sense of community, to be a part of something. There was something painfully ironic about getting trapped into something alien by something so very human.

It wasn't a very long drive. Tobias would have needed to take the bus, but even with the weather, we were almost to his house in very little time. 

"You know," I began, slowly like I could still back out. As if it would even be worth it at this point. "It's really not as great as they make it out to be."

I wasn't looking at him, but I heard Tobias shift in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"They talk a pretty good game about doing good and helping people, but a place like _that_ ," I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, indicating the rec center we'd just left, even though it was nowhere in sight now, "is the kind of place you can't leave once you're really in it."

Tobias considered that for a long moment. When I chanced a glance at him, his brow was furrowed. "I mean. If it's a good thing, I don't think I'd be worried about leaving."

"You'll want to leave. Trust me."

"Aren't you a full member?"

"Yes. So believe me. I'd know."

Tobias didn't say anything for a long stretch, except to tell me when to turn onto his street. Finally, though, he asked, "Why are you telling me this, anyway?"

Because clearly I wasn't done having a death wish. "Trying to do my good Samaritan act of the day." I pulled up in front of a house that didn't look quite as grim as I'd been expecting, if I was honest, but that didn't actually say much. 

"Well, thanks for the ride, I guess," Tobias said, unbuckling his seat belt.

"Sure. Stay out of trouble."

He laughed, awkwardly. "Yeah. Right. Okay." 

I waited there until I saw him enter the house, then headed home.

<Are you going to tell me what that was about?>

<What do you think?>

Ben made an exasperated "sound." <What if he tells someone?> I could feel Ben's worry. I knew he didn't actually object to helping a kid--even a kid he didn't know--avoid the Sharing, at least not on principal. It was the potential danger that was the problem.

<I don't think he will.>

<How do you know?>

I didn't answer. I didn't know. Not for sure. But there wasn't anything I could do about it now either way.

* * *

_Day 36_

Sometimes you just know it's going to be a miserable day.

I didn't remember this particular Sharing retreat. Probably that meant we didn't go originally. We might have gotten out of it again if I'd been more careful. It was always a delicate balance, trying to juggle human life with the invasion. It was the kind of thing that wasn't very unusual--most of us with human hosts had to do it, to some degree. We had covers to maintain, and not every problem was simply solved by just infesting everyone who posed a minor inconvenience. Or, well, it _was_ that simple, it just wasn't always the most practical. Secret invasions made for some wonderful complications sometimes.

So there was a certain amount of leeway, and once upon a time I'd gotten pretty good at knowing how to abuse it without getting caught. Sometimes that meant doing things I didn't want to do. 

Before, when this had been all my life was, a Sharing-sponsored camping trip in the woods was an easy thing to get out of. I'd make up for it somewhere else. If I had enough notice, I'd make up for my absence before it even needed to happen. Maybe if I'd been less focused on eking out whatever pleasure I could get from being home I could have fallen back into old habits. Maybe. It was kind of hard to find the motivation when it would all be over in a week, tops. Hard not to want to do anything besides barricade myself in the house and not leave until someone made me.

In this case, "someone" turned out to be Chapman, who said he didn't care what my host's family had going on, I had to show up for _something,_ at least half of what was supposed to be an overnight retreat. When your human boss tells you to do something you really don't want to do, you only have to worry about getting fired. When your Yeerk boss tells you to do something you don't want to do, you worry about getting killed or your family getting enslaved. 

I was already in a bad mood before I even got there. The morning started with a fight with Janet--her sister and brother-in-law were passing through on their way to L.A. for some kind of conference. I, for one, was perfectly content with seeing them as little as possible. They were kind of awful. Even so, under normal circumstances I might have stayed home to keep the peace. But it was too late now, and we were going to the retreat whether we wanted to or not.

Janet had insisted we take her water bottle and some bug spray with us as we were heading out the door, which felt like a peace offering, so maybe we at least wouldn't be sleeping on the couch tonight. That was something.

As far as Sharing gatherings go, it was not the worst I'd ever been to. It was very much the picture of everything the Sharing tried to fool people into thinking it was--a bunch of people from all walks of life, having a good time. There was a cook out and games, and no one had said anything yet about the "full member" meeting that was bound to happen at some point, so all i had to do was make a show of participating and being a positive representative for the Sharing, and then just keep that up for a few more hours. 

It would be fine. I was fine. Totally fine.

<I think you're hyperventilating,> Ben said.

Right. Okay. I excused myself from the conversation I'd theoretically been having--really, I'd been listening to someone else blather on while I nodded and made noises--and headed away from the group on suddenly unsteady legs.

It wouldn't be long now. I was pretty sure of that. A couple days earlier, I'd sat with a calendar and counted off the days I'd been home. Over a month at this point. It couldn't be more than a few days. Assuming I was remembering properly. Memory's a bit fuzzier when you're not trying to remember the event itself but someone's else's memory of it instead. On the one hand, I should have probably been glad this alternate timeline was almost over. Clearly, it wasn't doing my mental health any favors. On the other hand, I didn't know what was going to happen when I reverted back, either.

This couldn't be it. Whatever bullshit game was being played with my life couldn't just end with this. Surely, when this was over, I'd find out what else there was. 

The next few minutes were a blur. I must have found a stump to sit on at some point. It was quieter here, though I wasn't so far away from the gathering that I couldn't still hear it. 

Ben didn't say anything. Or maybe he'd tried and I hadn't answered, I don't know. I could've looked through his mind, but that took so much more energy than just passively listening, and that was about all I felt up to at the moment. I could feel Ben's concern. Really, he hadn't stopped being concerned since that first night. I'd have reassured him if I could, or at least if I could think of a convincing lie. Someone else probably could have handled the situation better, I thought. But someone else probably wouldn't have gotten themselves into this situation in the first place.

I leaned forward, elbows on knees, face in my hands, and concentrated on breathing in and out. I was still holding Janet's water bottle, and, since it sometimes helped to think about something totally inane and unrelated, I tried focusing on that, too. It was glass instead of plastic, which I thought was probably a bad idea, but Janet swore plastic bottles made the water taste funny. I couldn't tell a difference. Ben would reason that it was probably better for the environment, anyway, using less plastic. Made sense. Probably. At least it felt solid and grounding in my hands.

"Are you okay?"

I jerked upright at the voice, though even before I saw his face, I knew who it was. After all this time, I'd have recognized him anywhere.

 _It's you,_ I thought, dully. _It's you. Of course it's you._

A couple things happened in quick succession then. I heard something break. I realized, belatedly, that I'd dropped the water bottle. A hand reached out toward me, a "Hey, careful--" that I flinched back from without thinking. There a sharp pain in my palm, and when I looked down, my hand was bleeding and i couldn't think why. When I looked back up, I forced myself to focus on the concerned hologram face of Erek King. 

I'd been working so hard to avoid him. Tom and Tobias were one thing. They were uncomfortable and a bit sad--though I hadn't seen Tobias since I'd driven him home, so maybe that had worked out okay after all--but Erek was an entirely different thing. 

<Priton?>

Homesickness is worse when you have something to remind you of what you're missing. You can be homesick for two different places. You can be homesick for somewhere else when you're in a place you call home. 

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Erek was saying. "Here, I'll go get the first-aid kit for your hand. You okay?"

It shouldn't hurt to see him. It wasn't really about him. 

I shook myself, trying to focus. God, there was something seriously wrong with me. "Yes," I finally said. "Fine, just... getting a migraine." That was a normal enough reason to be out of sorts, wasn't it? I looked down at my feet, where Janet's water bottle was lying in pieces. "Ah, fuck, my wife's going to kill me."

Two thoughts occurred to me, near simultaneously. The first was that I shouldn't swear--it didn't fit with the Sharing's wholesome image--and the second was that, although as far as he knew, Erek and I had never spoken before this moment, we were both perfectly aware of what the other was--or what we were pretending to be, anyway. I should have called Janet my _host's_ wife. It was a common slip up--I was pretty sure even the most staunchly loyalist Yeerk did it on occasion--but when you were already a host sympathizer, it was always better to be overly cautious with what you said. Or at least that's what I usually did. If it had been anyone else I was talking to, I might have corrected myself.

I didn't. I highly doubted I could say anything that Erek hadn't heard before, and if there was anyone in this universe that I could trust not to rat me out as a traitor, it was Erek King.

The irony of this was not lost on me.

Erek disappeared back toward camp, presumably to find the first-aid kit. I stayed where I was, focusing instead on the cut on my hand. At least it didn't look like it was full of shards of glass.

<Are you okay?>

I didn't answer for a long moment, instead focusing on my hands. Finally, I said, <No. Not really.>

Erek returned with the first-aid kit. He handed me a roll of gauze. "Do you know how to wrap this?"

"Sure," I said, even though I didn't at all. Still, Erek didn't say anything as I started wrapping my hand, so I must not have gotten it that wrong. "What were you doing over here anyway?" I asked, keeping my tone conversational. 

"We're getting more wood to get a bonfire going later." He held out the kit to take the rest of the gauze as I finished my slip-shod wrapping job. "You might want to skip it, since you've got a migraine."

"Maybe. Thanks." I leaned down to pick up my water bottle, trying not to think about how the first time I'd ever thanked Erek King for anything was to a version of him who didn't even know me, and stood up. When I turned to look at Erek again, he had a strange look on his face. "What?"

He was looking between my hand and the ground and back again, brow furrowed in confusion. "Did you have two water bottles?"

I looked down at the bottle in my hand. Then I turned and looked at the pile of broken glass on the ground.

<What the hell?>

"You know what? Sure, we'll go with that." I stepped around Erek, who was still staring at me, and headed back toward the sounds of the Sharing gathering, without looking back.

<Priton, what is going on?>

I sighed. <There is no way I could explain this to you.>

<Well, could you at least try?>

I looked down at the water bottle in my hand. I had the vague recollection that this was part of it--weird as hell happenings as Crayak's little timeline experiment failed miserably and started falling apart. Maybe this sort of thing should have happened sooner. Or maybe it had and I'd been too distracted--willfully or from being too spaced out or whatever--to notice. Who knows. Still. 

<Give me a few days,> I said. It shouldn't take much more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priton's spiel about being responsible for his actions is a very deliberate [callback](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279150/chapters/35444250). When I wrote chapter 1 of Interludes, I was thinking "boy, I'm really starting the foreshadowing early, huh?" And then I proceeded to use that as justification for dropping in foreshadowing wherever possible.
> 
> [This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8913334/chapters/23287042) is really becoming a bad habit of Priton's. To be fair, the number of people Priton is willing to risk himself for is very small, and that group narrows further the more the personal risk is. Add to that the cognitive dissonance of Priton's tendency to romanticize the ideal Yeerk-Host relationship and his willingness to do the things the Empire requires of him (for the most part)... No wonder Priton is made up of about 85% anxiety. The other 15% is snark.
> 
> This chapter didn't go quite as smoothly as I was hoping. Part of that might be that I started writing Priton basically having an anxiety attack and triggered myself. Uh... oops. I'm not sure how I feel about Plan B here, but it did the job and I feel better about it, so win-win. 
> 
> Priton and Erek's relationship evolution is... an interesting topic. Like most of Priton's relationships with people, it's complicated and hard to define. We'll probably have lots of time to discuss this at length in Part 12. In the meantime, I will say that writing those two being polite to each other is the weirdest thing I've ever written, and bear in mind I used to write crackfic.


	4. An Ending

_Day 40_

All things considered, it was a very average evening in the Harrison household.

Dinner had been started. Amy had been cajoled into reading her assigned book from school. The news was on in the background while I simultaneously stirred pasta and tried to reason with a nine year old who had come upon the one terrible universal constant: Gary Paulsen was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

"Then why do I have to read it?"

"Builds character," I said. "Know what else builds character? Setting the table."

Amy grumbled but did as I asked--accepting the lesser of two evils--and I pretended not to notice when she set down the plates with exaggerated slowness to prolong the inevitable. Compromise. 

Eventually, Janet relieved me at the stove, and I went into the living room. Some political spokesman was being interviewed. Human politics weren't particularly interesting to me, which was probably ironic considering my human day job. It seemed very shout-y. Admittedly, this was a lot better than Yeerk politics, where disputes tended to end with someone's head on the floor.

Still, I stood in the living room, idly watching the television. This had become something of a habit over the last few days, more so even than it had ever been normally. I wasn't counting the end in weeks anymore, but days, maybe even hours. I wondered if it'd be better if I knew the exact date things would end. Steph's memory wasn't perfect, and the important details aren't always what you'd think they are when you're experiencing things for yourself. The exact timing of things wasn't terribly important in a story or a retelling, whereas when it was your genuine, lived reality, it could easily be life and death.

So, when the image of the Channel Five anchors cut out for a moment and then returned with a different image--one of a familiar Andalite _aristh--_ I felt a lot of things. Relief. Anxiety. Sad resignation.

Ben, for his part, was shocked speechless for about as long as it took me to verify that Janet and Amy were still occupied in the kitchen, and to locate the remote to turn off the TV. <That's an Andalite.>

<Yes.> My hands were shaking so violently all of a sudden that I almost dropped the remote before I could find the power button. 

<On the _news_.>

<I know.>

<People are going to see an _Andalite._ >

<Don't get too excited,> I said, though it was mostly unnecessary. The Animorphs mostly thought that people finding out about the invasion was a good thing. That it would change things, that it would mean more people in the fight than just a handful of teenagers with super powers. It's not that they were wrong about that, because they weren't, it's that the reality of things was a lot more complicated for those of us occupying that uncomfortable grey area of Host Sympathizers and Voluntary Controllers. There wasn't exactly a template for how that might go. As much as I liked to think that Steph and I had altered that part of things enough--at least, in our normal timeline--I would've felt a lot better if I had the reassurance of knowing for sure how things would go to back me up.

At any rate, here, in this doomed reality, none of that really mattered. We were just a Yeerk and a human with very uncertain futures.

<What do you think happens now?>

<I don't know,> I said. It wasn't really a lie. <If I had to guess, I think we're going to find out very soon.> I turned then, away from the now blank TV, toward the kitchen where Janet was calling for us. 

The life of this world--this universe, this timeline--was being measured in hours now. It was ending soon, and I wanted to spend as much of those hours as I could with the people who mattered. With my family.

* * *

_Day 41_

Perception of time is a funny thing sometimes. A single hour can feel likes days, or it can feel like seconds. I wonder if this is a universal thing, if all species feel like this, or if it's a uniquely human--and, by extension, Yeerk--problem. Maybe. I can't imagine Andalites have that issue much, though I'd never thought to ask Ax about it. The last couple months I'd spent with Steph had felt like they were speeding by too fast for me to want to make matters worse by focusing on and asking questions about things like _time_. Ironically, the time when it was most relevant was when I wanted to think about it the least.

The last day dragged. It didn't help that I had to go to work still, had to pretend things were normal even as everyone was talking about the aliens and "first" contact, and my Yeerk colleagues were quietly freaking the hell out to varying degrees. 

There was a meeting I should have been at. Right before last period, Chapman had found me and told me about it. I assured him I would be there, and then had continued on to class.

I'd gone straight home. There was no real point in pretending. When Ben questioned it, worried, I told him that it wasn't going to matter in a few hours anyway. He hadn't known what to make of that. 

I could have done better. Ben deserved better. I don't believe it would have helped, but it doesn't change that he deserved better than me.

In the end, it happened with very little fanfare. Amy was watching cartoons. Janet was talking to her sister on the phone about the insane events of the last twenty-four hours. I couldn't hear the other half of that conversation, but from Janet's end, it sounded like her sister was skeptical of the whole thing. I imagine it probably looked different to people on the outside. Ax's broadcast had been only on the local news channels, and everything since then was pretty localized to Southern California. We weren't the only Empire outpost, but as far as I knew, there weren't currently any near the Las Vegas suburbs, where Janet's sister lived. Which, you know, is also why they'd only visited us and not the other way around for the last three years. 

I was sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of tests I was supposed to be grading. It was hard to concentrate. Or pretend I was concentrating. Mostly I was staring down at a bizarre and impressively accurate doodle someone had drawn of George Washington's face and listening to the episode of _Rocko's Modern Life_ that Amy was watching. I was debating whether or not _Rocko_ suddenly turning into a musical about fighting capitalism was a sign of the universe collapsing or if that was normal, and also wondering if I'd given the doodler extra credit for their drawing originally--the test had been on the Constitutional Convention, it was at least in keeping with theme.

Somewhere, the kids who would have been Animorphs were trying to save the world. Probably. I should probably feel _something_ about that. Mostly I felt numb. And tired. So very, very tired.

For me, at least, the world ended with very little fanfare. One minute I was listening to the citizens of O-Town sing about fighting corporate America, the next everything was getting fuzzy like the signal going out on a TV, and then it all went black for a second, and then I was somewhere else entirely.

It happened so quickly. We were at home, and then suddenly we weren't. 

It took a few extra seconds for my brain to process what was happening--it was a smoother, less jarring, transition than the last couple times I'd been pulled around dimensional space, but things were a little slow to come into focus. There, around me, were the Animorphs--the six of them, minus Steph, which was somehow both a relief and a disappointment--and there, too, was the Ellimist, looking like an old man, and there was the Drode. All that was missing from this party of life-ruiners was Crayak, but I guess why show up in person when you can send your stooge in your place.

<What the fuck?> Ben's voice, shaking me out of my foggy stupor. <What the _fuck? > _

<It's a really long story.>

<Where are we? Who are these kids? And that Andalite? And... what are _they_?> I was looking directly at the Ellimist and the Drode, because they were the two most worth worrying about at the moment, so that was mainly what Ben could observe, too. The Drode was quite obviously alien, of course, but though the Ellimist looked like an old, human man, there was something that felt distinctly _not right_ about him.

<I think we're on the Blade Ship? The kids and the Andalite are a long story. And... those two are... uh...> God, where to start? <Would you buy "heavy-handed religious allegory?">

<No,> Ben said, incredulously. <Obviously no.>

"-- Your meddling came before, didn't it?" The Drode was saying to the Ellimist, apparently ignoring the rest of us. "How could we not have seen it? Elfangor's brother? His time-shifted son? This anomalous girl here? And the son of Visser One's  
host body? Not to mention your _other_ little pet project human--"

"Hey, now," I said, finally finding my voice. "Don't get mad just because your side's shit at picking its pawns, Drode."

They turned to look at me. I held very still. It occurred to me, belatedly, that I probably should keep my mouth shut and hope they forgot I was there. It was one thing to mouth off when you didn't expect any consequences for it. It was another thing entirely now.

It was Cassie who spoke up first. "Someone else is still missing," she said. When I chanced a glance in her direction, she was looking directly at me. "But I don't know who you are."

<You're the guy who told me to stay away from the Sharing,> Tobias said. He was a hawk again, though I could have sworn he'd still been human just a second ago.

I waved, half-heartedly. "Yeah. Hey. Priton here. I'll be your Steph stand-in for this book."

I felt the shift--that moment between forgetting and remembering that the others must have been going through. I felt it like shiver as it happened to _Ben,_ as something clicked, like memories had been taken down and were being snapped back into place again. 

"Nice of you to stop by," Marco said, I guess when he'd recovered enough for sarcasm. Good ol' Marco.

"Yeah, well. You know me," I said dryly. "I like to stay out of trouble."

<Oh. _Oh._ > I could feel Ben's mind working, processing the sudden surge of realization and memory, all still mixed with confusion. <Priton?>

<I know.>

<What is happening?>

<It's a really long story.>

< _Priton_.>

I winced internally. <I know. I know. I'm--Look, it's going to be fine. You'll be home in a minute. I promise.> I forced my attention away from my host, back to the Drode. "While we're talking about meddling--hey, Drode, what the _fuck_ did you assholes do to me?" When, instead of answering, the Drode just started laughing--a sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end--I said, "I thought this mess was for Jake and Crayak's vendetta against him. What was the point?"

" _This_ wasn't for _you_ , Priton the Traitor," the Drode said. "A happy consequence. I thought you'd appreciate this--a bloodless solution to a difficult problem. Aren't those your _favorite?_ "

I didn't know how to feel about being considered a "difficult problem," and I should have just let it go, but instead I said, "I was just expecting something more punishing than just _remembering._ A bit lazier than Crayak's usual M.O.--"

The Drode started laughing again, and I stopped talking.

The conversation turned back to the other six, which was far preferable, since I needed time to process whatever _that_ could mean. Much more time than minute or two we had left on the bridge of Blade Ship, in a frozen and dead timeline. 

<What happens now?> Ben asked. 

I almost said I didn't know--the truth, for once, as I stood there realizing that whatever was coming next, I _didn't know_ , because whatever it was, it wasn't what I'd expected, and that was quite possibly the scariest realization I'd ever experienced. 

Instead, I said, <I think now we go h--we go _back_. Life as usual. You know, such as it is.>

<And we won't remember this? Is that what they're saying?>

I didn't get a chance to answer. Later, I couldn't tell you if I meant to tell Ben the truth or not. It's not like it would have mattered one way or the other. 

"How do we get back?" Jake asked. "How do we--"

I don't know what it was like for the others. Probably it was like nothing at all. That was how resets felt, at least when you weren't springing back to life because of them--like no time at all had passed between the second before everything was set in motion and the second after you returned. Time could be reset a dozen times in a single day and you would never know unless you had some way of knowing what time you'd lost in the interim.

This wasn't quite like that. I didn't revert back instantly to the Pool. Instead, it was a little like losing consciousness--everything slowly slipping away as the world got a darker, and quieter, and the ground no longer felt quite so solid under my feet. 

<Priton?> Ben's voice sounded oddly far away, and then I realized-- _our_ senses weren't going dull, _I_ was being pulled away. We were being pulled from each other.

It was quick. Not instant, but quick, and I had time to think _fuck, fuck, no,_ and though it didn't matter, though he wouldn't remember, I didn't know what was going to happen, and I didn't know if I'd ever see him again, and there were so many things I should have said--not just now, when it didn't matter anymore, but before, too--and I was shit and terrible, and believe me, I _knew_ this. I knew that Ben--and Ben's family, and Steph, too, while we were on the subject--deserved better. It really didn't matter what I said now, or if I said anything at all.

<I love you,> I said. The connection was already nearly gone. <Be safe.>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most in-character thing I've ever written for Priton: him telling someone he loves them for the first time, ever, but only when they won't remember it after. Because Priton only does things in the most dramatic way possible. Also, fun fact, I was inspired to write Megamorphs 4 from Priton's perspective when I thought of the line "I'll be your Steph stand-in for this book" and the inspiration to write MM4 eventually led to the version of Going Back you're reading right now. That sure snowballed, huh. 
> 
> When you get down to it, Going Back is a story mostly about characters and less about plot. It's a fix-it fic whose fix-it plot takes a firm backseat to the _real_ point: it's a love story. It's a love story about all the different kinds of love--romantic, platonic, familial, shorm, and Priton's many, many hard-to-define relationships. The plot could make no sense (and frequently does. It's a Frankenstein's monster of 20 years worth of ideas sewn haphazardly together) but if I got the relationships right, I'd be pretty damn satisfied. Mind you, "right" doesn't always mean "perfect," or even particularly "healthy"--looking at you, literally every relationship Priton has. 
> 
> On that note, I feel like I need to forewarn you all that Part 12 is... a lot. It's currently Going Back's longest planned Part (the final Part might have more chapters, we'll see) and it gets kind of dark. It's also really weird, because it is Animorphs' weirdest book. Peak "I saw a weird filler book and made it my own." It's also my favorite Part in Going Back. Stuff that I think could be upsetting will be tagged when it comes up, but y'all should know by now that I don't really do graphic. A lot of angst though. Dear God, the Angst. I have read so much angst for inspiration. Also for fun. 
> 
> So. Stay tuned next for an in-depth character study of Going Back's three (yes, three) main characters, the return of my favorite Going Back tag, and an answer, at last, to the question "who is Priton's favorite Animorph?" Remember that time in Falling Up when I said the answer wasn't Cassie but we'd be getting back to it eventually? "Eventually" is finally "now." Probably no one thought that would be a major plot point.


End file.
